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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037865">o heart, lose not thy nature</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dopaminekeeper/pseuds/dopaminekeeper'>dopaminekeeper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ONEUS (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - To Be Or Not To Be MV, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Ritual Sex, Self-Harm, Sixsome, Vampires, please read author's note</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:21:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dopaminekeeper/pseuds/dopaminekeeper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>and after a century, with the first drop of claret, the monarchs awaken</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Everyone, OT6 - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>o heart, lose not thy nature</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HELLO EVERYONE tbontb possessed my little hands and made me churn this one out</p>
<p>CONTENT WARNINGS: blood drinking, bloodplay; the characters cut themselves and each other with a knife; relatively graphic descriptions of injuires</p>
<p>title from hamlet (iii.ii.355)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There is a ringing in Youngjo’s ears.  It is the toll of a century, a dream that lingers like acrid smoke and burnt flesh at the back of his tongue.  The ache of muscles long unused, strung up like so much meat at slaughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo breathes in, deep and fortifying when for a hundred years his breath has been nothing but shallow and fetid and rotting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why now?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Perhaps it is something celestial, a great conflagration of things in the heavens that brings just enough clarity to his mind to grasp at freedom.  Perhaps it is simply that Youngjo’s spirit yearns for the touch of the moon, his skin for the touch of his consanguinity, so long bereft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart beats stutter-step in his chest, slow then fast then slow again, as if relearning the tempo of his blood through his veins.  The opening won’t last long, he knows.  Another breath, deep and rare and sustaining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body may forget how to breathe, it may forget how to pump blood, but it does not forget the vital rhythm of butchery.  Trapped and drained he may be, but they were fools for leaving humans to guard them, even immortals such as these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A monarch’s spear strikes true.  Youngjo does not bother to clean the gore off the end of his blade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is Seoho he must wake first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo is desperately aware of his own weakness, knows that to revive the others he must fortify his own blood first.  He bends to one of the bodies, crimson running slowly over the marble floor.  It is meant to be distasteful, he knows, he is meant to be disgusted with himself, but perhaps Youngjo has never felt the appropriate amount of remorse in this act.  He digs his fingers into the jagged wound his spear left between this body’s ribs, the skin split like a ripe peach with claret beading at the edges.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the curse fell on them, blood didn’t stop tasting like blood.  It’s still metal-sharp, salty and rich at first and souring after, lingering long after it’s gone.  What changed was the urgency, the near-euphoric relief the iron tang brings as it meets his tongue and he swallows it down.  Youngjo forces himself to stay lucid — a few drops at a time ferried to his lips on his fingertips, even as every fiber in his body screams to bend down and tear into the wound with his teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands when he can feel his veins singing, skin thrumming and hungry for contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seoho’s just where Youngjo had left him, strung up and anguished in a way that makes Youngjo want to smooth the tension from his eyelids, the crease at the corner of his lush mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo doesn’t dare to look at the rest of them.  He knows that if he did, nothing would stop him bursting free from their prison in a glorious rage and tearing the last remains of the sun from the sky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he pulls his dagger from his belt, near-soundless as he draws it from its sheath.  The weight is familiar in his hands, the bumps and ridges of the intricate carved grip pressing into his palm.  It does not hurt when he rests the edge on his own lower lip, pulling down quick and precise to open the skin.  A fat drop of blood oozes forth, threatening to spill over and run down his chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses into Seoho’s lax mouth, sighing with pure, naked want at the feeling of touching one of them again — </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> touching, not the fleeting ephemera of a dream or the smoky panicked touches of nightmares, but the corporeal sensation of Seoho gasping awake as the blood rolls onto his tongue and down his throat.  He pulls Youngjo’s broken lip into his mouth, sucking, instinctively chasing more.  Youngjo cradles his face, allows him this, would allow him </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough, Seoho settles, and the frenetic clashing of their mouths becomes a true kiss, something tender and near-broken.  Seoho’s eyes open, lucidity coming slow but sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Youngjo, what…?”  His melodic voice is rusty from disuse.  Youngjo hushes him with a finger against his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The others,” he murmurs, pushing past the roil of emotions in his chest to speak, “we need to wake them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seoho nods, slowly and painfully extricating himself from the chariot’s shards.  Between the two of them, they pull the other four from the prison, laying them out on the stone like so many cadavers in a mausoleum, save for their shallow breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo manages to keep his emotions in check up until the moment he has them all in front of him, so near to being whole again that he can practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.  Seoho kneels by Hwanwoong’s side, brushing the hair from his face.  He looks up at Youngjo as if waiting for a cue, instruction, permission.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo swallows, hands him the dagger pommel-first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bring him back to us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seoho nods, looking down at Hwanwoong with the care of a century chasing ghosts and finally facing warmth again.  Without hesitation, he brings the razor edge of the dagger, still faintly pink from Youngjo’s lip, to his palm.  He cuts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blood falls easy from his hand to Hwanwoong’s parted lips.  It looks like sin, the way it trickles over them, along the corner of his mouth.  He comes to gasping, sitting bolt upright and grasping for whoever’s in reach, eyes wide and frantic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seoho knows what he needs.  Without a word, he raises his oozing palm to Hwanwoong’s mouth, allows him to lap at it.  Barely lucid, Hwanwoong’s not gentle, holding Seoho’s wrist in a grip strong enough to bruise and taking no care as he sucks at the edges of the wound.  Seoho lets out a quiet, broken noise at the pain, reaching out to card a hand through Hwanwoong’s hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hwanwoong’s irises fleck red and gold when they open, flicking between Seoho and Youngjo as he begins to comprehend what’s happened.  Youngjo watches him warily — not afraid, no, but Hwanwoong’s always been a little unpredictable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes shutter again, nosing into Seoho’s palm, pressing apologetic kisses to the tender, split flesh.  He might be forming words, but it’s inaudible.  Youngjo’s heart clenches.  He’s consumed suddenly by the need to throw caution to the wind, to wake the other three at once without any care, to have them all awake and in his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hwanwoong,” he says quietly, extending a hand.  “The next?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hwanwoong disregards the knife and pierces his thumb with his own incisor, feeding it tenderly between Keonhee’s lips.  He murmurs quietly, hand resting on Keonhee’s throat as if he needs the confirmation of his heartbeat, of the breath entering and leaving his lungs even as Keonhee takes the very essence of life from his veins.  It’s gentle, Keonhee’s eyes flickering open and long limbs trembling, desperate for contact, for something grounding.  Hwanwoong’s gaze is intent as he pulls his thumb away, smearing red over Keonhee’s full lower lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geonhak next,” Hwanwoong whispers.  He takes the dagger himself, knowing that Keonhee has a difficult time rending his own flesh, and kisses him quiet as he slices the skin of Keonhee’s forearm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geonhak comes up gently, like he’s been adrift on a vast ocean and they’ve pulled him onto dry land.  Keonhee feeds him from his fingertips, drawing them along the cut on his arm and letting the blood drip down onto Geonhak’s lips, down his throat.  Hwanwoong stays with him, pressed to his back, watching with sharp eyes as Geonhak gains lucidity bit by bit, drop by drop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo pulls Seoho a little closer as they watch Geonhak approach Dongju.  He notices that Seoho’s hand is dripping again, lifts it absentmindedly to his mouth to catch the trickles of claret that have encircled his wrist.  The taste blooms vivid on his tongue, achingly familiar.  He shivers, feels Seoho’s body tremble against his in answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geonhak doesn’t say anything when it’s his turn, just holds his hand out for the dagger and slices his palm, a mirror image to Seoho’s wound.  At the first touch of blood to Dongju’s lips, he jerks upright, grasping at Geonhak’s arm to wrench him closer.  He licks the cut clean, eyes unseeing, fixed on the middle distance, before he sinks his teeth deep into Geonhak’s wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The noise Geonhak makes is keen and anguished — the six of them are nothing like the romantic legends in which the bite turns to pleasure or euphoria by some natural toxin.  No, this is just sharp teeth and rending flesh, Dongju’s eager mouth on the wound he leaves, ichor spilling from broken blood vessels.  He drinks until he is satisfied, eyes fluttering open and soft lips pressed to the hurt he’s caused — not an apology, but an acknowledgement, gratitude.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geonhak crushes Dongju to his chest, reveling in the vitality of him, the new warmth.  There’s an energy thrumming around all six of them, seeping into the cold stone floor and making the air crackle like the aftermath of a lightning strike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not that one of them decides to move so much as one moment there is stillness and the next there is motion.  Youngjo reaches for whoever he can touch, yearning and open.  They’re beautiful, all of them, he’s missed them so </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the shadows of his dreams cannot compare to the feeling of Seoho’s lips on his neck, of Keonhee’s long fingers woven with his, of the buzz of Geonhak’s voice against his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches in a daze as Hwanwoong strips Dongju of his shirt, fingers quick on the buttons and teeth quicker to follow.  He doesn’t break the skin the way Dongju might but it’s a near thing, red marks rising swiftly on miles of skin even a hundred years of seclusion could not turn pallid.  It makes Youngjo itch to touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keonhee worms his way onto Youngjo’s lap, interrupting his watching long enough to kiss.  Youngjo’s split lip opens back up and he can’t help but keen when Keonhee licks at it over and over, pulls Youngjo’s lower lip into his mouth to suck at it, exacerbating the sting deliciously.  Keonhee’s always been good with his mouth, eager and hot and slick, and Youngjo keeps him steady with hands on his slim waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Youngjo,” Keonhee whines, all but collapsing into his arms, twisting so his back is to Youngjo’s chest and neck craned so he can watch the others.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With all his wriggling, he kicks the knife a bit, just enough to send it clattering across the marble floor and bring everyone’s attention to it.  Six pairs of eyes fix on it — the red sheen on the blade, the ornate carvings all along the quillions and the pommel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal, Hwanwoong reaches out and takes it, testing the heft of it in his hand.  He has Dongju pinned under him, arm splayed above his head and shirt open like a painting of something beautifully obscene.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do it,” Seoho says.  All attention turns to him where he’s plastered to Geonhak’s back, one hand resting on his throat, the other tracing absent patterns on his clothed thigh.  Geonhak already looks halfway to wrecked, flush high on his cheeks and down his neck.  Keonhee shivers hard in Youngjo’s arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dongju?” Hwanwoong whispers, laying the knife’s edge against his ribs.  Dongju breathes out a long sigh, turning to press his face into his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They share a collectively-held breath.  Hwanwoong keeps the knife in place while he kisses over Dongju’s stomach, his chest, the gorgeous swell of his collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They breathe out together as the knife slices into flesh, a shallow cut into the soft place between ribs.  Youngjo can almost taste the iron in the air, a fresh tang amongst the fading scent of their various wounds.  He knows, sudden and sure, that this won’t be the last among them, that this knife will see its fair share of blood before the night is through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dongju’s moan is pure sin, his fingers tight in Hwanwoong’s hair as he licks over the cut, chasing the salt-metal, hands roaming.  It’s not deep, blood oozing slowly.  Hwanwoong repositions the blade, makes another cut a few ribs down, chases it with his tongue as Dongju’s hips roll up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geonhak’s whine is almost louder than Dongju’s at the second cut.  Seoho laughs quietly, hands resting on Geonhak’s inner thighs, just shy of the bulge in his trousers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like that?” he murmurs, catching Youngjo’s eye for a long, heated moment.  “I’ll cut you up so nicely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geonhak doesn’t answer in words, just gives a strangled groan, turning his face into Seoho’s neck.  Hwanwoong hands Seoho the dagger, helping Dongju to sit up so they can both watch, legs tangled together, two pairs of eyes hot and hungry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seoho presses the flat of the knife to the side of Geonhak’s throat, just barely teasing its edge against delicate skin.  Geonhak’s breath stutters visibly in his chest, hands clenched into fists.  It’s hard to tell which is sharper, the blade or the wicked curve of Seoho’s smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With short, precise motions, Seoho catches the tip of the knife against each of the buttons of Geonhak’s thin shirt, flicking to send them skittering across the floor.  Youngjo can feel his own breath stuttering with each movement, his hands tightening on Keonhee’s hips as he watches, until the shirt lays open and the dagger’s tip rests against the laces of Geonhak’s trousers.  With a flick, those are severed as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keonhee stirs in his arms, pushing away and crawling forward towards Geonhak.  It appears that the wanting was too much, that he can’t stand being still any longer.  Seoho laughs again, that strange musical sound that sparks fondness in Youngjo’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Keonhee works to remove Geonhak’s trousers, Youngjo finds himself tugged by the hand to sit between Dongju and Hwanwoong, trapped in a cage of limbs as they watch the others.  Youngjo shivers as Dongju noses in to kiss at his neck, a hint of teeth every so often.  He places a hand on the back of each of their necks, thumb stroking at the short hair there, content to be surrounded by them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By now, Geonhak’s naked from the waist down, his arousal straining up and smearing sticky on the flat muscle of his stomach. Keonhee kneels between his legs, hands resting on Geonhak’s knees, keeping his thighs spread open.  Seoho breaks the silence for the first time in what feels like minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I leave some pretty marks here?” he asks, dragging the dagger’s point along the sensitive inside of Geonhak’s thigh, leaving a thin white line in its wake.  “I’m sure Keonhee would love to taste you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Geonhak grits out, his voice low and hoarse, thrumming through the air and down Youngjo’s spine.  “Please, I want it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm.” Any other time and Seoho would certainly tease longer but it’s been so long and Geonhak looks so beautiful spread out like this that none of them want to wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geonhak lets out a soundless cry at the first cut, then a whimper when Seoho makes a mirror cut on the other thigh, just a few inches below the crease where it meets his hip.  They’re shallow, but still deep enough that blood comes rushing forth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keonhee wastes no time, bending to lap up what’s already spilled.  It makes Geonhak arch, hips canting forward, the very picture of temptation to sin.  When he’s licked all that’s there, lips shining red and swollen, Keonhee kisses up the line of Geonhak’s hip, inches from his arousal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I?” he breathes, eyes hazy from bloodlust and desire.  It’s unclear where the question is directed, but Seoho answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you can,” he says, running a hand through Keonhee’s hair, flakes of dried blood falling from the wound in his palm, now beginning to scab over.  “Give him what he wants.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hwanwoong lets out a little gasp near Youngjo’s ear when Keonhee takes Geonhak’s cock into his mouth in a smooth motion, greedy and eager.  Youngjo’s hands tighten on the backs of their necks, especially when Dongju closes his teeth around Youngjo’s shoulder, just enough to sting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if a dam has been broken, Hwanwoong seems to decide that watching is no longer enough.  He turns Youngjo’s face into a bruising kiss, hand on his jaw, teeth insistent and opening the cut on his lip back up for the third time tonight.  By now, it’s so swollen and tender that even the gentlest of kisses would be agony, and Hwanwoong is anything but gentle, but the pain is bright and blooming in the best way.  It makes Youngjo crave more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By his grip on his neck, he pulls Dongju closer, up against his back so he’s caught between the two of them, his loves, his lifeblood.  Dongju has no qualms about sinking his incisors into Youngjo’s neck, taking from Youngjo what he craves and what Youngjo is so willing to give.  Distantly, hazily, he hears Geonhak’s cries, Seoho’s melodic voice, Keonhee’s low humming — it all swirls into the air around them, bouncing off the marble floors and vaulted ceilings, a feedback loop of pain-pleasure-</span>
  <em>
    <span>power.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want more?” Hwanwoong asks against Youngjo’s lips, voice a whisper.  He could be referring to feeding or to Youngjo’s obvious arousal, but it doesn’t matter — the answer to both questions is </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hwanwoong pulls back, raises his wrists to Youngjo’s lips.  Youngjo’s breath stutters out at the offering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The knife?” he asks, but Hwanwoong shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t want it.  Want you.”  Hwanwoong’s eyes are intent.  Dongju’s hands slide across his stomach, palms flat and steadying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo bites into Hwanwoong’s wrist, unable to contain an obscene sound as the relief floods his body, the pure feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>rightness</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Hwanwoong’s essence enters his bloodstream, mingles with his own blood.  He drinks until he is sated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Youngjo gasps, when he pulls back, grasping at Hwanwoong’s wrist to keep his hand cupped to his face, leaning into it like it’s the only thing tethering him to this realm.  Hwanwoong smiles at him, the visage of something holy despite the blood spattered across his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before the night is through, he’ll taste them all, and they’ll taste him, and he’ll be whole again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For now, he lets Hwanwoong and Dongju take him apart and takes them apart in turn, reveling in the mortal pleasure of flesh.  They watch as Seoho draws a matching cut on his unmarked palm, feeding Geonhak from his fingertips while Keonhee coaxes him to completion down his throat.  He watches sleepily with Geonhak in his lap as Seoho and Keonhee grind slowly together until they, too, are sated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To touch one another, to truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch</span>
  </em>
  <span> one another is a gift that Youngjo once thought his right and then, for a century, understood to be a luxury, something hallowed and divine.  They lay together on marble floors once cold, now warm to the touch with their power.  The air thrums with energy, a melody once thought dead and buried and lost to time, resurrected and set to rights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Youngjo will not let them go again, not by his spear or by their blood that flows within his veins.  This he vows.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <i>'Tis now the very witching time of night,<br/>When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out<br/>Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood<br/>And do such bitter business as the bitter day<br/>Would quake to look on. (Hamlet III.ii.350)</i>
</p>
<p>find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/dopaminekeeper">twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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